


Edge of Forever

by mrsG



Category: Good Luck Charlie
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 08:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsG/pseuds/mrsG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Duncans have to pull together when the unthinkable happens to Amy and Gabe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: One More From the Road

 

Amy Duncan had exactly thirteen minutes left before her life changed forever.

Of course, she didn't know that. She only knew that her life was just too busy some days, and today was definitely turning into one of those days. The day had started out with a bang when the three-year-old woke up in a temper, the twelve year-old dropped a bombshell about baseball practice that afternoon, and the sixteen year-old argued with everyone because of her new falling-out with her boyfriend. Then the eighteen year-old's car wouldn't start, forcing Amy and her husband Bob to both be late for work after driving all four kids to their various schools and daycare. Work had been a nightmare of understaffing and a high patient census in the Emergency Room where she was a nurse. And now . . .

Now, she was pulling into her own driveway with the full and certain knowledge that she wouldn't be getting out of her mini-van any time soon. She leaned on the horn and was rewarded with the sight of her youngest son running out down the driveway with his gear bag in one hand and a half-eaten Sloppy Joe in the other.

Thank goodness for the slow-cooker, she thought. At least Bob and the kids would get dinner.

Gabe threw his gear bag in the back seat and climbed in front beside her. The Sloppy Joe had vanished, but his bulging cheeks gave evidence that it wasn't completely gone yet.

"There's this thing called chewing," she scolded. "You should try it."

He grinned and held up both free hands before grabbing at the seatbelt and buckling himself in.

Amy understood that to mean "but now I have both hands free to buckle up". She shook her head, smiling.

Gabe gulped down the rest of his supper. "Safety first. Right, Mom?"

"Sure," she chuckled.

Eleven minutes left.

"Are you sure practice hasn't been cancelled?" she asked. "There's a nasty storm coming. Looks like it could hit any minute."

"Nope, no calls from the coach."

"You know you're going to get wet," Amy said, as the first fat raindrops hit the windshield. She frowned. Powerful spring storms were nothing new to a woman who had lived here in the Rocky Mountains her entire life. But being familiar with the storms didn't mean she liked being out in them. She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the trees whip back and forth in the sudden wind.

"Gabe, turn on the radio, please. I want to hear if there are any weather warnings or watches."

He complied. The van was filled with a blast of classic rock at full volume.

"Really, Mom? And you yell at us to turn our music down?"

"Hey, it's a law: Lynyrd Skynyrd must be played at full volume at all times. Just pop the CD and find a radio station."

Eight minutes.

A moment later, she was reassured that they were under a severe thunderstorm warning, but no tornado watch. She didn't need the National Weather Service to tell her that she was driving through a severe thunderstorm. No, she figured that out from the gale-force winds and a sky that had suddenly gone dark at 6:30 p.m. "Gabe, Honey, I think we're going to turn around," she decided. "There's no way you'll have practice tonight in this weather."

"But, Mom—"

"But nothing, Mister. Can you imagine standing in the middle of the baseball field with an aluminum bat in your hand during a thunderstorm?"

"Gabe Duncan, Human Lightening Rod?"

Three minutes.

Amy nodded. "If Coach Goodwin gets mad, he can argue with me." She slowed the vehicle and started looking for a place to turn around. It was a lovely, tree-lined street with few houses. Normally, she enjoyed the beautiful mix of maple, oak and pine trees and the peaceful feeling she got whenever she drove through here, but tonight she found herself wishing for a few less trees and a few more strategically-placed driveways.

Lightning tore through the sky, blinding her for a second.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Gabe asked in a hushed voice.

"I've driven in worse," Amy told him, risking a glance in his direction. She tried to sound calm, but she was definitely nervous about any storm that managed to blow up so quickly. She turned the wipers on high and hunched forward, trying to see. Forget about a place to turn around; they needed a place to pull over and stop. NOW.

She and Gabe both heard the crack at the same time. Up against the night-like sky, she saw the splintered trunk of one of the trees –maple, she thought crazily –as the top part of the tree snapped off and plunged toward her vehicle.

"No, no, no . . . " Amy heard her own voice ring out, mingling with her child's scream. For a split second, she wondered whether to slam on the brake or to floor the gas pedal and try to shoot through the gap. Then instinct took over and she was stomping on the brake, gripping the steering wheel with all her might and willing the van to stopstopstopSTOP—

Sharp, stinging pain spread across the top of her head. Her face was suddenly wet with cool rain and warm blood as her entire world shrank to include nothing but leaves and bark and glass and the raging storm outside – which was no longer outside but was now somehow inside and her head hurt and there was blood all over her right hand and why couldn't she turn her head or move at all and why was her baby boy keening endlessly in a high-pitched wordless wail?

Breathe.

Amy drew a long, shaking breath and told herself to be calm. "Gabe, settle down!" she snapped. "I need you to talk to me, Baby. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know!"

"Okay, okay. Okay." He was answering her. That was good. He was conscious and able to process what she was saying.

He was alive.

Thank you, Jesus. From out of the blue, Amy suddenly thought of her father's favorite saying: There are no atheists in foxholes.

She could move her right arm a little bit. Her fingers closed around the straps of her purse where it lay on the floor between the seats. Her cell phone was in there somewhere.

"Hey! Are you all right in there?" Someone was peering in the window at her through the tangle of tree and twisted metal. "I've called 9-1-1."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see a young, earnest-looking face surrounded by wet, dark hair. Thunder boomed.

"I'm all right," she told him. "My son is hurt. Please get him out."

"Yes, Ma'am." The face disappeared. There was movement on the other side of the van.

"Okay, I'm going to pull you out the backseat window," Their rescuer said. "I've got you; can you push up with your feet?"

"But my Mom—"

"I'm not hurt, Gabe," Amy said hastily. "I'm just stuck. Let him get you out of here before this storm gets worse. I'll be fine."

Still unable to turn her head, she could barely see her son's feet moving upward as the stranger guided him upward and out. Soon, the earnest young rescuer was back at her window. "Your turn," he said . "I'm going to pull you out the same way I got your son out,"

"No." If she could have moved, she would have shaken her head for emphasis. "Where's Gabe?"

"I put him in my truck. He's safe."

"No, he's not. This storm could blow another tree over, or you could be struck by lightening, or it might even become a tornado. Please, just get him somewhere safe."

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"Please." Amy hated the begging tone of her voice. "Listen to me," she pleaded. "I am not hurt, I'm not crazy. I'm a Mom, and my kids are the most important part of my life. Please, keep him safe."

"But—"

"What would your mother want if it was her stuck here and you sitting out there in a stranger's truck?"

Silence. Then, "I'll be back. I swear."

Amy breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was alone and terrified, but her son was on his way to safety. Her other kids were home safe with their father, and help was on its way. She wasn't badly hurt –

Then the pain hit, and it hit hard.

Amy Duncan screamed in agony as it rippled through the base of her neck, almost between her shoulders. Oh, God. This was bad, she realized.

Really bad.

 


	2. What's Your Name?

He thought he might throw up, right there in the road. He'd never seen a serious car accident up close in all of his sixteen years, but there was no question in his mind when it came to responding. It was a mini-van, for God's sake, just like the one his girlfriend's mom drove. Mini-vans meant kids and moms; only a cold-hearted bastard would keep driving after seeing a giant maple tree break off and fall directly on top of the vehicle.

He parked his father's truck on the side of the road and jumped out. Almost immediately, he was soaked to the skin by the driving rain, but he didn't notice. He was too busy shouting information into his cell phone at the 9-1-1 dispatcher. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that these people were trained to stay unemotional in any situation; however, there was something maddening about her calm, patient questions.

Most of the damage seemed to be on the driver's side of the vehicle. The teen got as close as he could and peered through the carnage. "Hey!" He shouted. "Are you all right in there? I've called 9-1-1!"

He could see long blonde hair streaked with blood, and the side of a woman's face. Her skin had a funny color – a grayish chalky white that looked . . . cold, somehow. Amazingly, she actually answered him. "I'm all right!" She cried. "My son is hurt. Please, get him out."

My God, he thought; she's alive?

He could see movement on the other side of the woman. He bolted around to the other side as fast as he could move, and realized instantly that there was no way he was going to be able to open the door. He tugged at the handle of the sliding side door, but that was also too badly damaged to open. The windows were shattered; gingerly, he reached through and found that he could reach the small dark-haired person in the passenger seat.

"I'm going to pull you out the backseat window," he said. "Can you push with your feet?"

The boy resisted for a moment, but then allowed himself to be half-dragged, half-lifted out of the vehicle. "Do you think you can walk?" The teen asked him.

"I—I don't know, Spencer."

Gabe Duncan.

His girlfriend's little brother.

Spencer almost dropped him. That meant that the woman pinned under the maple tree was their mom.

First things first. "Hang on to me, okay, Gabe?" The boy had grown a lot during the past year, but he was still small enough for Spencer to carry. He put the kid in the truck and took a second to wipe some blood and rain from his face. "Stay here, Buddy," he said as gently as he could. "I'm going to go help your mom."

But she didn't want to be helped. She wanted him to leave her there and take care of Gabe. He felt torn until she played dirty and told him to think about what his own mother would want him to do. Even as he walked away, the sound of her agonized scream filled his ears.

Gabe must have heard it, too. He leaped out of the truck and ran to help her, but Spencer caught him, wrapping both arms around him. I promised to keep you safe, he thought. The boy was surprisingly strong—wriggling, kicking, pounding with small fists – but the teen refused to let him go.

As if in answer to his silent prayers, the scene was suddenly swarmed with people. They piled out of fire trucks, an ambulance, a police car and other vehicles that seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Shh, Gabe, everything's going to be okay," he murmured. "Help is here. It'll be okay." In his arms, the struggles suddenly ceased. He had a few seconds of relief that became panic almost immediately when Gabe went limp.

**********

Teddy Duncan was getting angry. Spencer was almost an hour late for their date, and he wasn't answering his cell phone. Sure, there had been a terrible storm, but it had dwindled away to just rain by this point so there was really no excuse.

"Maybe there's a cell phone tower down or something," her father commented. He frowned at the phone in his own hand. "I can't get through to your mother either, and I'm sure Gabe's practice must have been cancelled. Doesn't Spencer live over by the practice field? If there's a tower down, it makes sense that they both would have lost signal over in the same area."

"I heard sirens a while back," Teddy said. "Maybe you're right."

Before Bob could answer, the front door burst open and Spencer stumbled in. He was drenched and mud-splattered, and he ran right past his girlfriend's outstretched arms. He went instead to her father, clutching at the front of the man's shirt in desperation.

"Mr. Duncan, there's been an accident!" He gasped.

"Easy there," Bob told him. "Where are you hurt? Teddy, call 9-1-1—"

"No, not me!" Spencer gulped. "Mrs. Duncan and Gabe! A tree – I saw it happen. I got Gabe out, but Mrs. Duncan. . . she was trapped and they had to cut the van apart to get her out. They're both in ambulances on the way to the hospital – I couldn't call you, my phone got wet and won't work."

"Which hospital?" Bob demanded.

"The one she works at."

"Whose blood is that on your shirt?" Teddy asked.

"Spencer is messy," three year-old Charlie added.

Spencer looked down, startled. Sure enough, there were streaks of smeared blood all down his shirt front and on his arms. "I—it must be Gabe's," he murmured.

"That's from my brother?" her voice sounded funny to her own ears. There was . . . so much of it. "Mom was trapped in the van? Daddy . . . ?"

"C'mon, let's grab your sister and go." Bob was suddenly all business. "Spencer, PJ is at work. Will you call him and let him know what's going on? Use the house phone."

"Sir, I'd rather tell him in person. If that's okay."

"You're right. That's probably best." Bob called back over his shoulder, already halfway out the door with his youngest child in his arms and his other daughter right on his heels. Spencer hurried after them and yanked the door shut.


	3. Double Trouble

As an Emergency Room nurse, Amy had taken care of many patients strapped to backboards, and had even been strapped to one a few times while practicing for state board exams with the other nursing students. But none of that had prepared her for the claustrophobic misery of this moment, with the cervical collar immobilizing her head and neck and the heavy-duty straps securing her to the backboard. It made her want to scream and thrash about just to prove that she could still move.

She felt a warm, comforting grip on her right hand and a friendly face swam into view above her, blocking out her view of the ER ceiling. It was Fran Culpepper, one of the nurses she had worked with earlier in the day.

"Don't you get enough of this place during the day?" Fran chided.

" . . . guess not," Amy managed. "Fran, my son—"

"Is in good hands," Fran said firmly. "You know there's nowhere better for him to be right now. You let us take care of you, and then I'll go see what I can find out. I've tried to reach your husband, but there's no answer at home. Does he have a cell phone?"

Amy gave her Bob's cell phone number, and she relayed it to someone Amy couldn't see. Fran's face disappeared when Dr Russell, an older man with a distinctly fatherly air, leaned over to smile down at her and ask silly questions. Of course she knew where she was, and what date it was, and why she was here. Yes, she remembered what had happened. Did he really think she could ever forget it? Why couldn't he see that the only question that needed answering was her own?

"Is my son all right?"

"Can you feel this, Amy?" Dr. Russell asked. "Is it sharp or dull?"

"Sharp. Please, tell me what's going on with him."

"One of the nurses is finding that out for you. How about this? Sharp or dull?"

"Dull."

"Good girl."

"How bad is it?"

"It's hard to tell at this point," Dr. Russell told her. "You've got sensation in your feet and legs, and everywhere else except those fingers on your left hand, so that's good. But I'm going to have to send you down for x-rays and a CT to see what's going on with your neck. I- " He turned his head to listen to someone just out of Amy's sight; his expression was grim when he looked back down at her. In the distance, she could hear a commotion. She thought she heard a voice calling "Mom!"

She thought her heart would stop beating.

"Dr Russell. . .?" she whispered.

"Amy, I need you to stay calm for me. Your son is awake, and he's combative. Dr Phillips can't sedate him until she finishes the initial exam. Can you tell us anything that will calm him down?"

Me, she thought; my child needs me. Gabe was too smart to believe a generic "Mom says she loves you and everything's okay" message. He needed something more personal, something like –

"Roses love sunshine, violets love dew," she whispered. "Tell him I said 'roses love sunshine, violets love dew'."

"'Roses love sunshine, violets love dew'?" The doctor echoed. He turned and spoke once again to the person she couldn't see. "Did you get that? Go!"

He touched the top of her head, gently parting the hair to examine her scalp. "You'll need a few stitches here," he said. "You've got a nice laceration. May need about a dozen or so stitches. I'm going to have Fran clean it up while I go order those tests for you. Any questions before I go?"

"My son . . .?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we know anything. Tracey Phillips is one of the best doctors we have; you know that. She'll take excellent care of him."

"O-okay."

Fran returned and dabbed at her face. If she noticed she was wiping away more tears than dirt or blood, she didn't say anything.

**********

" . . . there you go. Good job, Gabriel. I need you to wake up."

Gabe did not know the woman's voice, but she was annoyingly insistent. He wanted to stay asleep, just for another five minutes. He tried to turn and burrow into his pillows – and discovered that he couldn't move.

His eyes flew open.

He was looking up at a white ceiling and several strange faces. Something was wrapped around his neck and cheeks and a strap of some kind bit into his forehead. Another went around his legs just below the knees, while yet another crossed his chest, holding his upper arms close to his sides. Everything hurt.

"Let me go!" He cried, desperately trying to free himself. Someone clasped his left hand.

"Gabriel, you're at the hospital," The woman said. "I'm Dr. Phillips. I—"

"No!" He thrashed helplessly and more hands clutched at him, restraining him even more.

"Gabriel—

"No, no, let –" He could hear his voice, rough with fear. It seemed girlishly high, just like it had sounded when he screamed just before the impact.

Impact.

Memories flooded back. The tree. Broken glass. A stranger hauling him out of the wreck and into the rain, and then someone –Spencer?—holding him back, keeping him from running to his mother.

"Mom!" He cried. "My mom – I need – she's hurt!"

"She's here, too, and they're taking good care of her. Right now, I need to take care of you."

"Mom? Mom!" He shouted. Twelve year-olds don't cry, he told himself. No matter what.

He heard the doctor barking orders at someone. Black spots swam in front of his eyes.

"He's hyperventilating!" Someone cried.

A new face leaned in over him. "Your mom says to tell you 'roses love sunshine, violets love dew'," a young red-haired nurse told him breathlessly.

He froze.

"See?" The redhead told him; "Your mom is just a few doors away, and she told me to tell you that."

He drew a deep, shaky breath. They weren't lying to him. She was really here at the hospital, and she was still alive. Only his mom would know that he would recognize the words to the lullaby he had heard her sing to Charlie a million times. It was the same lullaby he dimly remembered from his own childhood, too: Roses love sunshine, violets love dew. Angels in Heaven know I love you.

"Okay now?" Dr. Phillips asked.

"Y-yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Down In the Valley" is a traditional Appalachian folk song (lyrics in public domain). I used it here because it's a song that has been used to soothe crying children in my family for at least four generations. I never understood the full meaning of the song until I was much older, but it's still sort of a code between my sisters and me – and it still comforts me with a feeling of family and home when I've been away too long.


	4. Ain't Too Proud to Pray

Bob knew that he had never had a good "Poker face". Whatever emotion he felt at any given time was always clearly written on his face for the entire world to see. As he stood outside the door of the cubicle that held his injured son, he struggled to compose his features so as not to reveal anything, no matter what he saw.

All that preparation went right out the window as soon as he saw Gabe.

The boy was strapped down to a backboard with a large c-collar clamped around his neck and shoulders. His clothes were gone; a childish-looking hospital gown had been wrapped around him without being snapped or tied, and his bare feet and legs were marked with scrapes and cuts that made his father flinch. Worst of all was the wild-eyed expression of sheer terror on his face and the white-knuckled fists that proved just how hard he was working to stay calm.

A young woman in hospital scrubs was cleaning the wounds on his legs while speaking to him in a soft, gentle voice. She looked up and smiled at Bob.

"Someone's here to see you, Gabe," she said.

Bob swallowed noisily and stepped forward, laying one large hand over his son's clenched fist. Gabe couldn't turn his head at all, so Bob leaned over to look straight down into his face.

"Hey," he breathed.

"Dad!" The anguish in Gabe's voice tore at his father's heart. "What about Mom? Is she okay? They won't tell me anything. "

"She's downstairs, getting a CT scan," Bob told him. "I haven't seen her yet, but Fran says she's awake and talking." He'd actually been somewhat relieved to find he couldn't see her right away; he had agonized all the way here about having to choose which one to see first. "How're you feeling?"

Gabe's chin trembled. He blinked rapidly.

"That bad?"

"Uh-huh."

Bob ached to hold his child in his arms and comfort him until the fear and pain went away. As it was, he could only squeeze a hand and smile a plastered on, fake smile.

Another woman walked in and gave Bob a quick appraising glance. "Are you his father?" She asked.

"Yes. Bob Duncan." He automatically stuck his hand out.

She shook it. "Dr Phillips. I've been spending some time with Gabriel this evening. He's a pretty tough kid."

"Yes . . . he is."

"Well, I've got some good news for you, Gabriel. I've looked at your x-rays, and it looks like your neck and back are okay, so we can get you off of the backboard."

"Yay," Gabe sighed.

"Miserable, isn't it?" Dr Phillips wrinkled her nose. "I wish someone would design a comfortable backboard. Maybe you can design one when you grow up, huh?

"I'll be a millionaire."

"And I can retire early!" Bob's smile was less forced this time. Neck and spine were okay, so that was one less thing to worry about. Perhaps he could even take Gabe home tonight. The relief was almost overwhelming.

He stepped back out of the way as two other people came into the room. He didn't know if they were nurses, interns, or what-have-you, and he really didn't care. All that mattered was that they were there to help with his boy. He held his breath while they undid all of the straps and then rolled Gabe over on his side to slide the hated backboard out from under him. The last thing to go was the bulky yellow contraption that had immobilized his head and neck.

The nurse with the soft voice smoothed and fastened the gown around him while Bob stepped forward again. "Better?" He asked.

Gabe nodded. His chin trembled again. One silent tear slipped down into his ear and his face crumpled as he lost the battle he had been fighting for too long. 'I'm s-sorry," he choked; "I shouldn't cry – I'm—"

"No, no, don't be sorry!" Bob cupped the boy's cheek in his hand and leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I'd worry more about you if you didn't cry! Let it out, just let it all out."

"I couldn't m-move."

"I'd cry too, if I was on a backboard."

"Dad, if you were on a backboard, the paramedics would be crying."

Bob laughed aloud, pleased to hear Gabe's tears turn to giggles and finally hiccups.

"Mr. Duncan, may I speak with you for a moment?" The doctor asked. "Out in the hallway?"

"Sure. Gabe, I'll be right back. Teddy and Charlie are here, too; I'll send them in to keep you company."

One in the hallway, Dr Phillips was all business. "I want to admit him," she stated. "He seems to be out of any immediate danger, but I'd like to be able to keep an eye on him."

"Okay." It sounded like a reasonable request.

"I may want to get an MRI in the morning, depending on how he does during the night."

"Why? What are you looking for?"

The doctor hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. "Mr. Duncan, your son was involved in a horrific accident, and was unconscious for an extended amount of time," she said slowly. "At this point, his only injuries appear the scrapes and lacerations from broken glass—especially on his legs, from being dragged out of the vehicle through the window. But some injuries, particularly head injuries, don't always show up right away. I just want to make sure he's really all right."

"Head injuries."

"Yes. Did I hear you say there are other family members here? Let's get them back here with him, because it looks like your wife is back from her CT. I'm sure you'll want to see her and talk with her doctor."


	5. I Need You

PJ Duncan had been fighting off a nearly overwhelming feeling of doom throughout his entire shift at Kwikki Chikki. He usually enjoyed the busy dinner shift because the time seemed to fly past, but tonight was different. It had started with the storm; PJ always got nervous during thunderstorms. Especially the ones that screamed in with the kind of force that had been behind today's storm. Even though he was eighteen and technically an adult, he was as freaked out by thunder and lightning as he had been as a child.

But then the storm passed and the feeling didn't go away. People poured into the restaurant for supper because the storm had knocked out power all over town. They chattered about trees and power lines down in the roads. Someone mentioned an accident in which a tree had fallen on a minivan just a few streets away.

He felt the first cold finger of uneasiness dance down his spine, but dismissed it. After all, there were hundreds –no, thousands—of people in Denver who drove minivans. Not just his mom. Even though she would have been on that very street taking Gabe to baseball practice.

Practice had probably been cancelled because of the storm, he told himself.

But when he was sweeping the dining area, he overheard another conversation about the accident.

"Do you think that kid will make it?" a teen asked his friend as they set their trays on a table.

"No way," the other boy answered. "He was probably already dead, dude. Didn't you see how he just . . . laid there?"

"Excuse me." PJ leaned in. "Are you talking about the tree that fell on the van?"

The first teen nodded, his mouth already full of chicken.

"What . . . what did he look like?" PJ asked.

"I couldn't really see much. Looked like he was wearing a red baseball uniform."

Gabe's team wasn't the only one that wore red uniforms, PJ told himself. He excused himself and headed for the back room, pulling out his cell phone as he went. It was probably just a coincidence, but he would feel better once he called home and talked to his dad, just to be sure.

"Duncan! You're not on break yet," Mitch, PJ's boss, shouted. "Get back up front!"

PJ held up a finger and ducked through the kitchen door, already placing the call. There was no answer on the Duncan house phone.

Lots of people drove minivans. Lots of kid had baseball practice and wore red uniforms. Mom and Gabe were fine. He was just overreacting, giving them all something to laugh at later tonight.

The call to his Dad's phone went straight to voicemail.

Lots of people drove minivans. Lots of kids wore red uniforms to baseball practice. Mom and Gabe were fine.

His Mom's phone went to voicemail.

Lots of people drove minivans.

"PJ."

Mitch spoke from right behind him, and he knew.

Slowly, reluctantly, PJ turned to face his boss. In that moment, everything was too focused, too vivid. PJ could smell the stale Dentyne on Mitch's breath; he could hear the clatter of dishes going into the dishwasher and the rumble of conversation in the dining room. Somewhere, the sound system was pumping out a customer-friendly version of "Papa Don't Preach".

It was the first time PJ had ever seen Mitch's face look less than angry.

Spencer Walsh stood behind Mitch, looking wet and bedraggled.

"No," PJ told them both. "No, there are lots of minivans in Denver. There's a tower down or something, and I'm going to call my sister, and she'll tell me that everyone is okay. I just have to call Teddy—"

"PJ—"

"No. Please . . . no."

"PJ, I told your dad I'd bring you to the hospital," Spencer told him. "He and Teddy and Charlie are on their way there, and they need you."

"Are Mom and Gabe . . . gone?" From a family of six to a family of four, just like that?

Unthinkable.

Unbearable.

"I talked to both of them at the scene," Spencer said. "C'mon, I'll tell you the rest on the way."

"Go, PJ," Mitch urged. "Don't worry about the rest of your shift here. Just have someone call me and let me know what's going on."

Suddenly, reality zoomed back in, and PJ could move at normal speed again. He nodded and followed Spencer at a run for the parking lot, where Spencer had left the motor running in his father's truck. He threw it into gear while PJ was still buckling in.

"I saw it happen," he said. "I didn't know it was them at first. That crazy storm hit so fast! They passed me going the other way, and I heard this awful noise, and I looked up in the rearview mirror, and . . ." he shuddered. "I couldn't really see your mom, but she told me she was okay, and yelled at me to get her son. I ran around and pulled him out and that's when I realized who it was."

"Did you pull Mom out, too?"

"No. I – she wouldn't let me, PJ. She told me her kids were the most important thing in her life."

PJ nodded. That sounded like his Mom, all right. Sure, she liked being the center of attention, but she was fiercely protective of all of her children. It made perfect sense that she would try to be in charge of her own accident scene—especially if she thought one of her kids was hurt.

"So was Gabe okay?" He asked. "Those guys at Kwikki Chikki made it sound pretty bad."

"I-I don't know. He . . . he was running around after I put him in the truck, and he seemed pretty strong. I tried to stop him from going back to Mrs. Duncan, and then all of a sudden, he just . . . collapsed. Right there in the road. The paramedics made me move, and they put him on a board and everything and then threw him in an ambulance. He was still out cold when they left."

PJ touched a red smear on the dashboard. "He was right here? In this truck?"

Spencer nodded.

"So this is his?"

Spencer nodded again. "I tried to call your house, but my phone isn't working anymore," he said softly. "I had to stick around and talk to the police because I was a witness. I saw them use the Jaws to cut the van apart, and I swear your mom was still talking when they got her out. PJ, I swear they were both alive the last time I saw them. I swear."

There was nothing more to say. As soon as they reached the hospital, both boys leaped out and raced for the door. Spencer may have been the athlete, but PJ had so much more at stake. They skidded into the building at almost the exact same time, and were quickly ushered back to a small, curtained-off cubicle.

The youngest Duncan boy was awake. PJ barely noticed his puffy face or the IV tube running into his arm. He only noticed that his brother was alive and awake.

Teddy sat in the chair beside the bed, holding his hand between both of hers. She was a wreck, her pretty face streaked with tears and smudged make-up, but she was smiling at something Gabe had said; Charlie was in the bed with Gabe, snuggled up next to him and sound asleep on his shoulder.

"PJ!" Gabe cried.

'Hey, Gabe," PJ tried to sound nonchalant, but they all heard his voice crack. "Can I – touch you?"

"Only if you can get around Teddy."

Teddy huffed indignantly, but she scooted her chair far enough to let PJ in. Ever so gently, he leaned in and pressed his cheek against his brother's, gripping his shoulder and holding him close in an improvised hug. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he whispered.

""Okay."

PJ felt his sister's arm slide round him. They stayed like that, the four Duncan siblings, all clustered in and around the same bed in one big hug.

"How is Mom?" PJ asked, after a while. He released Gabe and stepped back.

"We don't know," Teddy told him. "Dad told Charlie and me to stay with Gabe while he talked to Mom's doctor, and that's all I know. He hasn't come back yet."

"She was screaming," Gabe said. "She said she wasn't hurt. She said she was just stuck under the tree, but she wasn't hurt, and she told me to let that guy help me out. She said she wasn't hurt. And then she started yelling and screaming, but he wouldn't let me go back to help her."

PJ and Teddy looked at each other, and then at Spencer, who stood awkwardly in the farthest corner of the room. He shook his head.

"It's all my fault, isn't it?" "Gabe asked miserably. "She was only out in the storm because of me, and then I should have stayed with her. But she said she wasn't hurt. It's all my fault. She has to be all right. She just has to be."

Before either of his older siblings could reply, a nurse entered the room. "Hey, guys," she said. "I'm Fran; I work with your mom. She and your dad want to see you for a minute, and she asked me to stay here with you, Gabe."

"I can stay with him," Spencer offered. "Go ahead, guys. Gabe and Charlie and I will be all right."

"Tell Mom I – I . . . tell her . . ." Gabe's voice trailed off.

"She knows you love her," PJ whispered, giving his little brother's hand an affectionate squeeze. "She knows. I promise."


	6. Am I Losin'

Amy hated having her kids see her like this. She was still completely immobilized and restrained, unable to move anything but her hands, unable to look anywhere but straight ahead or in this case, since she was flat on her back, straight up. Her clothes had been cut away and replaced with a blue hospital gown, and her bare feet had been covered with something fluffy and warm.

Fluffy and warm. Both were good sensations after a neck injury, she told herself.

Pain was not such a good sensation. It came in waves that the high dosages of Dilaudid just couldn't touch, but she refused to let them give her anything stronger. The nurse part of her brain realized that there were decisions that were going to have to be made in the upcoming hours, and she didn't want Bob to face them alone. The wife part of her brain understood that Bob was not good at decision-making when someone he loved was hurt. The mother part of her brain knew that she and her children needed to see each other one more time. Just in case.

The woman part of her brain was still reeling from being lifted and moved and well, manhandled all evening. When Fran was cutting away her clothes, Amy had assured her that modesty really wasn't an issue. After all, she reasoned, she had given birth four times; what part of her body hadn't been touched and seen by a roomful of medical professionals before?

But this was different. Amy felt small and vulnerable and definitely not in control of the situation.

If there was one thing that Amy Duncan needed, it was to be in control of any situation.

So she argued with Bob about allowing the kids to see her like this, and about letting them hear what the doctor was about to tell her after looking at the X-rays and CT scans. She called him names and shouted at him and even cried, but Bob could be as stubborn and determined as his feisty little wife when the situation called for it. And when the lives of his wife and son were at stake, the situation definitely called for it.

"PJ is an adult, Honey," he reminded her gently. "He's eighteen. He deserves to understand what's going on. And you can't make Teddy stay behind if PJ comes along. Have faith in your kids."

PJ's blue eyes were filled with unshed tears when he leaned over to kiss her cheek. He looked pale and scared, but his lips were pressed together with a kind of determination she had rarely seen in her firstborn. He seemed to have aged since that morning. His voice didn't even tremble when he said "Gabe said to tell you he loves you, Mom."

Teddy was also fighting for control. She kissed Amy's cheek as well, and forced a smile."Always the drama queen, right, Mom?" She said.

Amy smiled back. She took a deep breath. "Okay," she announced. "Go ahead, Dr. Wilmont. Give it to us straight."

Carl Wilmont was one of the best neurosurgeons in the area, not only because of his skills in the operating room but also because he knew how to talk to his patients and their families. He had a way of explaining things in a way that non-medical people could understand without making them feel stupid. Amy was relieved to know that he would be taking care of her and her family.

"When we talk about the spine, we divide it into three areas," Dr. Wilmont began. "There's the Cranial, Thoracic and Lumbar, and we use the letters C, T and L to talk about them. So if I say C-7, that means the seventh vertebra in the Cranial –or head—part of the spine.

"Amy's neck is broken at C-7 and T-1, or what we refer to as the CranioThoracic Junction."

"Her neck is broken." Bob stated. Amy could feel his hand holding hers, but couldn't see him. He sounded so bleak that she squeezed his hand to comfort him, even though it was her neck—her future- they were discussing.

"Yes."

"But –but I thought people got paralyzed when they broke their necks," PJ stammered.

"Not always," the surgeon told him. "In cases where the spinal cord is damaged, or when the injury is higher in the cranial region, paralysis almost always occurs. In this case, however, I have good reason to believe that her spinal cord wasn't badly damaged, which is good news. She's got full sensation in her feet and legs."

"What about my left hand?" Amy asked. "Why are my two outer fingers numb?" She thought she knew the answer, but wanted her family to understand.

"It's hard to know for sure just yet, but it is most likely related to nerve damage. I'll know more after your surgery."

"What, exactly, are you going to do?" Teddy asked.

"I'm going to put in a metal plate and fuse the spine at the point of injury," Dr. Wilmont explained. "If all goes well, your mom could make a full recovery in three to six months."

"And what if all doesn't go well?" Bob asked.

"There are possible complications, of course. There are certain risks associated with any surgery, and working with the spine is never a simple procedure."

"What are the complications?" Bob wanted to know.

"The spine is a very delicate area, Mr. Duncan. Paralysis is the highest risk."

"What about. . . " the big man cleared his throat and tried again, but just couldn't say it.

Amy squeezed his hand again."Doctor, my husband wants to know if there's a chance I could die during the surgery."

"Yes, that is a possibility. This is a very risky surgery. But it's also necessary. Without this surgery, Mr. Duncan, Amy cannot survive more than a few days."

*********

"Why are you here?" Gabe demanded.

Spencer blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're not my family. I want my mom."

"Gabe, your mom is -"

"Shut up! Where is she?" Gabe tried to sit up. Charlie, asleep on his shoulder, squawked in protest.

He gave her a startled glance and reached up to touch his little sister's hair. "Shhh, go back to sleep, Charlie. When did she get here?"

"She's been here for a while, Gabe. Don't you remember?"

". . . roses love sunshine, violets love dew. She's my baby sister, you know. She likes it when Mom sings about the violets."

Spencer's heart skipped a beat."Do you know where you are, Gabe?" He asked.

". . . know I love you, dear, know I love you. Angels in Heaven know I love you."

Spencer seized the call button. Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place before Baby Toby.
> 
> It is dedicated to EMS workers everywhere.


End file.
